One Battle Lord’s Fate (16 page)

* * *

“What is she doing?”

Yulen paused at the question. The Battle Lord from Embry was pointing to a spot above Yulen’s shoulder. At the same time, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. His hand had half-drawn his sword by the time he whirled around to see Atty running for the small grouping of trees in the distance.

With one glance, he knew something had gone wrong.

He hustled to meet her at the trees. When he arrived, she was standing amid the small grove, another arrow nocked and ready just in case.

“What?”

“Assassin.”

“What?”

“What’s going on?” a voice behind them demanded. The Battle Lords and their men joined them, but remained far enough away to give Yulen and Atty room to examine the body.

Yulen walked around to where she was standing guard, and leaned closer. The arrow had gone into the soft spot at the temple, directly behind the man’s eyes, and exited out the other side. Already the body was sagging heavily. A moment later, there was a snap as the arrow broke, and the body fell to the ground.

Even in death, the man’s hand continued to grip the long dagger. Yulen immediately noticed the assassin wasn’t holding it by the handle, as was the usual way for stabbing or cutting. Instead, the blade was poised in his fingers, ready to throw.

“I saw the sunlight flash off the blade,” Atty answered his unspoken question.

Bending down, Yulen used the point of his sword to poke at the man’s nondescript clothing. “I don’t see any marks of identification. No way to tell which compound he’s from.”

“What do you mean, which compound? Are you accusing one of us of trying to assassinate you?” Beyt Meyers demanded in a huffy tone of voice.

Yulen casually glanced up at the man. “Who said anything about an attempted assassination?” he coolly questioned.

The Battle Lord looked startled. “Wh-why else would he have a knife?” He pointed to Atty. “Why did she kill him if he wasn’t planning to kill someone?”

“I concur with Meyers,” Evermil spoke up. “Who was his intended target?”

Dissman stepped closer. “What if he wasn’t sent by one of us? What if he’s from a neighboring compound? Hell, look at him! Check under his clothes. He could be one of those Mutahs who look Normal.”

“He’s not Mutah,” Atty whispered.

“How do you know?” Rafe asked. “You haven’t looked.”

“I
know
.”

To D’Jacques’ credit, he didn’t retreat from Atty’s scathing look
, but he should have.
Yulen glanced around to get a sense of what the others were thinking. Unfortunately, they all appeared to be as surprised and confused as he was. A handful, he noted, were pissed at being suspected. None of them seemed to be hiding anything. He cursed under his breath and signaled for one of his men, who had arrived and stood a discreet distance away.

“Get the body over to the clinic. Liam?”

“On it,” the physician said, and hurried away to prepare the clinic for examination.

“Guess this means meeting out in the open like this is no longer feasible,” Meyers remarked.

“We could meet in the main hall, but we would have to convene between meals. Let me check and get back with you. In the meantime, I suggest you go back to your camps. Better yet, why not stroll among the shops we have here at Alta Novis?”

Anastopolis sneered. “We’re not women who need to buy petty things to get our minds off of our problems.”

“Then you obviously haven’t seen our shops,” Atty retorted. “Cavender, our knifesmith, has an exceptional collection of knives and other weaponry that are one-of-a-kind and handmade. There’s also Fleetus, who creates works of art with armor. And that’s just two of our shopkeepers.”

The Battle Lords talked among the others in their groups. Slowly, they left the field as two of Yulen’s men arrived with a litter. Covering the body with an old blanket, they hurried to deliver it to the physician. Atty and Yulen remained behind for another moment or two.

“Did you notice how no one seemed surprised that someone had sent an assassin to sabotage the summit? They were more concerned over who would be accused of sending him.” He glanced over to see her pull the broken arrow’s barb from the tree and drop it into her quiver. She was very frugal about her precious tips. “Do you think it’s possible the man was sent by another Battle Lord? One who chose not to appear?”

“He was sent by one of our guests,” she flatly commented. Her tone brooked no argument. And if she was that certain, he had no reason not to believe her.

“Any idea who?”

“Yeah.” She slid the bow across her body. “The same one who plans to attack us again.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Permanently

“There’s talk in the market about an assassin showing up at the meeting.” Janelle watched her son as she waited for an answer or remark. When none came after a reasonable amount of time, she moved closer, placed her hands on the edge of the small table where Rafe was perusing a map, and leaned in. “Did you actually think the man had a chance to follow through?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. Neither does it matter that he failed. D’Jacques may still be alive, but now he’s more aware of the burden he’s brought upon himself.”

“Which means he’ll be twice as vigilant! It was a stupid move!”

“On the contrary, mother.” He speared her with a dark look. She knew it well. He was two steps away from striking her. “My
stupid move
did exactly what I intended it to do.”

“Which was?”

“It drew his attention further away from protecting Alta Novis. He will focus only on the summit now, and the protection of the other Battle Lords, as well as his Mutah guests.”

Straightening up, Janelle crossed her arms under her breasts. “You never intended to kill D’Jacques.”

“I gave the order. I knew the fool would do as he was told. I also knew he’d never succeed.”

“Not with D’Jacques’ Mutah wife standing guard.”

A strange, almost wistful look passed over Rafe’s face. It was present for a split second before his usual grim visage reset itself, but she had seen it.

“No. I’m beginning to believe that Mutah bitch is a greater adversary than my dear, dear brother.” His smile tilted up one corner of his mouth. “I will enjoy those spoils once this is over.”

“What’s next?”

“Patience, Mother. Patience.” He got to his feet, folded the map, and slipped it into an inner pocket of his jerkin. “I need some fresh air, and I’m curious about the weapons makers. Care to join me?” He held out an arm in invitation, which she accepted. The fact that he wouldn’t reveal any of his plans to her wasn’t unusual. But this show of genteel gallantry was totally unlike him.

“When the time comes, will you at least let me know what I’m supposed to do?”

“Of course, dear Mother. Don’t I always?”

He lifted up the tent flap, and she ducked to exit. In doing so, she missed the hot, brooding look that flashed across his face.

* * *

Yulen entered the clinic and went straight to the back room where MaGrath was waiting. The assassin’s body lay nude across the examination table.

“Find anything?”

The look on the physician’s face answered him before the man spoke. “Not a thing. I’ve inspected every inch of skin. I’ve even poked through his mouth for dental work. By the way, the man never took care of his teeth.”

“Why did you look for dental work?” Yulen asked, curious.

“A lot of dentists mark any unusual work with their crest or initials. It all leads back to the days before the Great Collision.”

“Explain.”

“Sometimes, when an unidentifiable body is discovered, there may be parts in the body itself that could help in identifying it. Dentists know that teeth will survive even a great fire. Many of them mark bridgework or caps, in the event the person is found dead. Officials use those marks to seek out the dentist who did the work, and thus discover who the victim is.”

“That’s amazing. But you found nothing?”

“Sorry. Either the man was new at the assassination trade, or he knew enough not to have any sort of mark left on him that would trace back to his employer. Which could account for his bad teeth, although I seriously doubt it.”

“Aren’t assassins like mercenaries? Open to the biggest purse?”

Liam nodded. “Sometimes. I’ve also heard of a few Battle Lords who train their own men.” He gestured toward the body. “I’m thinking this one fits the latter.”

“Why?”

“He’s well fed, for one thing. Killers for hire go from one compound to the next, looking for work. Thus, they’re thinner and browner.”

“Browner?”

“From the sun. This man is pale, meaning he trained indoors, or out of direct sunlight.” The physician walked around to the end of the table. “I don’t have anything to back my claim, but I have a hunch this may have been this assassin’s first job.”

“His first?”

“I don’t know what made me think that. It’s an impression I get. Yulen, do we know who the target was?”

“Everyone seems to think it was me.”

MaGrath tilted his head. “But you don’t?”

Yulen ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to think. I mean, who else could it be?”

“Gee. I can’t begin to guess,” MaGrath retorted with more than a hint of sarcasm. “It’s not like any of the other Battle Lords could be the targets, right? Or someone on one of the Mutah councils?” Softening his tone, he added, “We’re lucky Atty was there to stop him.”

“Yeah, but we have more questions than answers. Tomorrow is the last day of the summit. The Battle Lords who agree to open their compounds to Mutah will sign the prepared treaties. The others will go back to their homes and inevitably fall to the Bloods.”

“You still honestly believe that our survival means joining forces with the Mutah? We’ve held the Bloods off this long. What makes you think being independent is suicidal? Don’t get me wrong. I’m your strongest supporter when it comes to calling a truce between us and the Mutah. But we know that only the Mutah hunters have the ability to fight, and there’s not that many of them.”

“Maybe so, but those hunters are far more skilled than a whole company of well-trained men. Hell, you know what Atty alone can do!”

“Yes, but we also know she’s an exception.”

“From what I’ve seen Fortune and the others do, they’re no one to mess with, either,” Yulen stated. “If my best men take a small handful of the other Mutah, like the traders and the merchants, and train them, and put them along the walls in times of great need, I honestly feel like we can eventually turn this inequality around. I believe we can stop the Bloods for good.”

“You mean, completely eradicate the Bloods?”

“No, no. I don’t think that will ever be possible,” Yulen admitted. “But we might be able to convince them that attacking us is a bad idea. Enough to where they move on and leave us alone. Permanently.”

MaGrath shrugged. “That’s mighty lofty thinking coming from you. Then again, when you first said you were thinking of forming a peaceful coalition between us and the Mutah, back when you and Atty were first falling in love, I thought you had already gone off the deep end.” He walked over and threw a cover over the corpse. “Nice to know you’ve got a plan.”

“What plan? At this point, Liam, I feel like I’m walking alone in a black forest with a creature lurking behind every tree, ready to attack, and no one to guide me to safety.”

“Guide you, no, but Atty will always be there to watch your back.”

The remark made Yulen smile. “Yeah. I’ll always have that.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Guests

Rafe was sitting on a tall mound of pillows at the end of the large oval rug inside his tent when the five Battle Lords and their Seconds arrived. As instructed, his men requested that their own soldiers remain outside, but that the Seconds were welcome to stand guard alongside their leaders.

When the men entered, Janelle greeted them with warm smiles. As always, the Battle Lords were captivated by her grace and charm, as well as her beauty, despite her years. It wasn’t long before they were all seated on soft pillows around the rug.

Mugs of ale from Rafe’s private stock were presented. He watched the men imbibe freely, his own cup of drink barely touched. Every so often he would bring it to his lips as if to sip, but it was an act. He needed to keep his head clear and his wits sharp.

Trays of sweet bites and breads were left in the center of the rug. Both Battle Lords and Seconds helped themselves. Within the hour, the trap was set and ready to be sprung.

“Gentlemen.”

Inside the tent, his deep voice carried like a bell. Everyone paused in their various conversations and gave him their full attention. Janelle took a seat to Rafe’s left.

“Gentlemen, thank you for coming. I guess you’re wondering why I asked you here.”

“To share conversation and drink. At least, that’s what you want the other Battle Lords to believe,” Meyers answered. The blunt answer brought a half smile to Rafe’s face. They had easily seen the real reason behind his invitation.

“You’re very astute.”

“We’re not stupid,” Evermil spoke up. “We’re D’Jacques’ most vocal critics. We’ve been meaning to gather before this to discuss the absurdity of this summit, but your request came at a most opportune time.”

“Tell us we’re wrong,” Dray Constantine added. He was the Battle Lord of Little Grandville, a compound far to the west. The older man with a face full of acne scars had said little in the time Rafe had been present at the summit. It was Dissman who had suggested to D’Jacques that he extend his hand to the Battle Lord.

“You’re not wrong,” Rafe said. “We are at a distinct disadvantage among the other Battle Lords, who want this ridiculous treaty signed with the Mutah. I thought that a small, informal gathering of just us few would be better. Give us the chance to air our disagreements. Maybe come to our own understanding.”

“What do you mean, our own understanding?” Dissman queried. “The summit will be over tomorrow. D’Jacques will present the treaties for us all to sign. We’re outnumbered.”

The comment made Rafe snort. “We’re outnumbered if you count supporters versus dissenters. But in strength, we,
we
are the ones holding the balance of power.”

The room was quiet as each man mulled over the comment. Finally, Dissman took a big swallow of ale, emptying his cup. He held it out in a silent request for more, and belched. “Tell us more.”

“What if...what if Yulen D’Jacques was removed from power? What if Alta Novis was no longer his compound, but under the command of someone else? Someone who was not a Mutah supporter?”

Evermil sneered. “You?”

“I am the older brother and legitimate heir. By rights, Alta Novis belongs to me. And I have every intention of claiming her before the end of the week.” His smiled widened. “My men are ready. All they need is my command to proceed.”

The five Battle Lords stared at him, first in disbelief, then in amazement as the truth of what he’d said became clear. It was Anastopolis who finally spoke.

“Word is a number of soldiers have already been deployed to help the Battle Lord of Foster City. That brings the number down a little, but every little bit helps, right?”

“The number is about to go down a lot more,” Rafe grinned. This time he actually took a small triumphant sip of ale.

Evermil smiled. Rafe had never seen a more deliciously evil smirk on a young face. “What can we do to help?” the Battle Lord asked.